


with a rope around your neck

by depressive_cockroach



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Hank, Filming, Forced to Watch, M/M, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-05-31 00:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depressive_cockroach/pseuds/depressive_cockroach
Summary: "You are going to die here, Hank".





	1. Gavin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a loose translation of my own fanfic. Btw, English is not my first language, so consider yourselves warn.

Gavin watches Hank for three whole years. He watches Hank getting drunk every goddamn day and spiraling into depression even deeper.

Gavin adores to watch Hank from sort of the side, without attracting any unwanted attention to himself. There is something mildly arousing to this, voyeuristic even. Additionally, from afar he can spot some special details which would be invisible in close range. Or maybe — just maybe! — Gavin can spot them because he’s currently stalking Hank, following him around, sitting in a car next to Hank’s house with binoculars in his hands.

Who knows?

Only once in a while Gavin allows himself to intervene, to spit an offensive joke or any other unwanted statement during their working hours. Hank usually responds to that with a crude remark of his own.

As long as Hank’s miserable, Gavin is fine with just this. There is no need to turn his life into living hell, though Gavin often masturbates while imagining what exactly this hell would look like.

It lasts for three long years until those fucking androids start to go mental on an industrial scale. There is now a plastic detective in their police department. It calls itself “Connor” and immediately makes friends with Hank. Gavin can’t stand him, that’s for sure.

Balance in Detroit is changing rapidly after immense wave of deviancy. Now they deal not just with homicides, but with a shit ton of android cases too. Everyone including Gavin is working extra hours and so he stops stalking Hank for a while. He thinks foolishly that nothing will change. He doesn’t notice anything.

And he should.

Hank’s dull and dark world suddenly blossoms. His life is filled now with new colors. He advocates for android rights, he is chatting with Connor ever so cheerfully, he runs a mile or two every day and goes to therapy.

Gavin is annoyed, because he should not have this kind of life.

One sunny day in January Hank is having a lunch break. He is eating homemade chicken curry with rice while having a conversation with his tin can. He laughs from time to time and his cheeks blush a little as if he is a teenage girl.

Gavin can’t take his eyes off him.

Connor places his hand next to Hank’s and touches him. Hank doesn’t protest. He just smiles like an idiot he is and this drives Gavin mad.

No one looks at their friend like that.

Impossible!

Hank whispers something inaudible. Gavin imagines “I love you” in his lips movements.

No.

_Hank's hands are bound behind his back. From the wrists stretches upward a long thick rope. It disappears under a high attic ceiling and then returns back, appearing in the hands of Gavin._

_All that Hank can really do is turn his head a little bit and swear. Gavin slowly pulls the rope, forcing him to raise his hands higher and higher, stand on tiptoes._

_One sharp jerk is enough to cause his shoulder joints to fly out._

_Hank screams ever so loudly._

Hank smiles, looking at Connor.

Hank seems happy.

The shaky containment system built by Gavin on the basis of a sole idea (that is too simple) starts to crumble, and he loses his cool.

His troubled mind chose Hank as a sacrificial goat three years ago but Gavin nobly decided not to do this. For three years he held back, convincing himself that while Hank was on the path of self-destruction, he did not need to take any action.

So Hank can’t possibly be happy. Not in this world, no.

Rage boils inside Gavin’s rotten soul. He launches from his seat unable to just watch Hank’s face and not beating it with a baseball bat. Gavin needs to calm down, he needs it badly. Only after that he can think about Hank’s not so distant future.

Legs predictably lead him to the men's room where Gavin, still not fully aware of himself, strikes his fist against the white tile. The hand slips, the edge of the tile broke away and a wound appears on the knuckles.

A drop of blood spoils the white cuff of his shirt.

“Fuck,” Gavin hisses.

But pain is even more sobering than the splash of cold water in the face.

Now he knows the end of this story.

Hank dies in the end.


	2. Hank

Hank does not drink for a month and a half, and so the headache feels almost new to him. It’s kind of weird, pulsing only in one place, exactly above his eyebrow, like... As if he fell and hit the ground.

Hank chooses to ignore this pain and whatever is happening to him and around him right now. Instead he scrolls through some blurred memories of what he remembers, gluing them together inside his head. Those memories are fuzzy, indistinct, as if he is looking at them through a cloudy glass window.

Hank looks at what's going on behind that window. He’s jogging with Sumo. He is eating breakfast. He is chatting about something meaningless with Connor. 

There is something about work, the usual: suspects, interrogation, witnesses and interrogation again but he can’t really remember anything particular. Maybe these things do not matter. 

What matter is a forgotten scarf in the car and Connor not being around. Hank hears footsteps behind him, but decides not to react to them.

He should.

He feels sharp pain in the neck. And after that only white noise follows.

So now Hank is here, in unfamiliar and potentially hostile place. He finds himself in an attic without windows but with dim lighting from the cheapest bulbs that you can find in the store.

It's like he ended up in one of those third-rate noir detectives, which Connor has been very fond of lately. But it seems that the reality is strikingly different from the cheap shit that you can buy on the Amazon.

Hank is currently crucified on a cross, on two uneven bars, turned into the “x”. His legs, hands and neck are pressed tightly against the cross by straps. The edges of the metal buckles are unpleasantly cutting into the skin. Hank feels the buckle on his throat, located directly under the Adam's apple.

“The fuck?” he asks no one.

“So you are finally awake,” someone responds.

Hank tries to turn his head toward the sound to see his kidnapper, but he comes forward himself. Hank recognizes him immediately.

“Is this some king of a sick joke of yours, Reed? Free me for fuck’s sake! Now!”

Gavin smiles. It seems like it is just another Friday for him.

“It’s anything but a joke. And I have no intention on freeing you, ‘cause you will beat me into bloody mess”.

“No kidding, shithead”.

Hank realizes that he can’t really do much. There is no way to get out from these restraints.

No surprises.

“You better thank me for standing with both feet on the ground. You know, at first I wanted to hang you, but then I decided that it could cause unnecessary premature injuries. I still do not have much experience in this.”

Hank notices unnerving and promising phrase “premature injuries”.

“How so? Aren’t you a huge pervert who should master these kind of things?”

“These are not the questions you need to ask me. These are not the right questions.”

He comes closer, and this suddenly makes Hank tenser than he would have liked. Gavin is not a person you want to let into your personal space in lesser ... dangerous conditions.  
Hank tries to reassure himself with a thought that, even if something really happens, Connor has probably already noticed his disappearance.

If he is still alive, that is.

Goose bumps run down his spine.

“And what questions are considered right? “What do you want from me?” questions? Or maybe “Are you really that fucked up?” I don’t’ think there are any right questions, not really.”

Without a word, Gavin takes out a knife from behind his belt and cuts off a few upper buttons from the Hank’s shirt, the stupid one decorated with a large geometric pattern.  
Buttons drop to the floor with a low thud, roll along uneven surface to different corners of the attic and disappear wherever the light does not reach.

“Do you have an idea of what exactly I’m planning to do with you?”

“It’s not like I wanna think about that but I guess I will not see the sun ever again, won’t I?”

“Why such an unhealthy pessimism? Maybe I'll just cut off, say, a hand of yours, and then immediately let you go home to Sumo and that atrocious bucket with a face of a newborn moron?”

Gavin's eyes shine with a textbook fire of madness, and his hands tremble with anticipation of something grand.

“I don’t think that in this case you would be bothering with the cross and other props. Besides, you equipped for me a whole attic in some abandoned building... I must admit, I'm even a little flattered, Reed. But is it worth it? Whatever I did to you, I'm not sure if it's worth it to destroy your life for.”

But, it seems, it's not that he did not have enough time to jump on the departing train — he came to the station when the train reached its final destination.  
It’s just too late to appeal to Gavin’s long lost conscience.

“You should’ve just continue to be miserable and broken, Hank... You should’ve just stayed a fucking drunk without future, family and friends! This is all your fault, Hank! It’s on you! It’s on you!”

Gavin is screaming while waving a knife right in front of Hank's face, and he feverishly calculates exactly where the blade will struck him.

He bets his life savings on his neck and he loses. The knife cuts his ear, and then almost immediately bites into the palm of the right hand, nailing it to the beam.

At this very moment Hank realizes that Gavin will definitely kill him, but he realizes also that it will not happen soon.

Not soon enough. 

Hank does not scream.


	3. Gavin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New warning: bodily fluids

Hank is under full Gavin’s control. He can do so many wrong deeds with him for as long as he wants to. For the first time in his live Gavin has such opportunity. This is something he was longing for years and yet it is not what the best thing in all of that is.

Hank fully justifies the expectations placed on him by Hank, who existed only in Gavin's head.

He acts rude while searching for weaknesses. He does not want to give up and yet, despite everything, he is afraid. Hank wants to live, and Gavin will take his life from him with great pleasure. He might even take something else from him in the process.

From the moment when Gavin has pinned Hank's hand to the cross two hours passed. For whole two hours the temperature in a small section of the attic is maintained at just above ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit.

It's almost the temperature of the human body. 

Of course Gavin should’ve locked Hank in an iron box and put it on the heat for the best result, but the February in Detroit is not hot enough and not humid enough, so two heaters and a spare generator working at full capacity were brought into action.

Gavin climbs the stairs, listening to the muffled buzz of equipment hoping to hear at least one little groan, but so far he hears nothing.

It can be fixed easily though.

“Did you miss me?”

Hank looks back at him with pure hatred in his eyes. His face is as red it can be, drops of sweat drip down his temples, hair is stuck to the skin. This picture itself is a little exciting even though Hank is dressed, not including shoes, jacket and a belt that are in a black plastic bag somewhere, but still.

“Go fuck yourself, you psycho.”

“You'd better be more polite if you do not want to get fried. By the way, there is also a third heater. Are you sure you want me to turn it on?”

Hank is breathing heavily. He hates the heat, Gavin is sure of it.

“Fuck you.”

A familiar knife appears in Gavin's palm, and Hank noticeably flinches. The bandage on his palm turned red long ago and the shirt is hopelessly spoiled.

“No worries, sweetheart, I’m not planning to hurt you.”

He is lying, they both know that.

Gavin grabs the sleeve soaked in blood and begins to cut the damp cloth. Hank is silent. He does nothing but holds his breath than Gavin switches his attention to his T-shirt. It’s cute in a unique way.

Gavin cuts the fabric from the bottom up, exposing first the small round belly then the old scars from knife and bullet wounds, sweaty curly gray hair and finally a huge tattoo on his chest.

Gavin sees it for the first time. There are roses, angel-like wings and a portrait of an unknown woman in uneven circle. It’s not the most intricate or peculiar imagery though the level of detalisation is truly breathtaking.

“And you were hiding this beauty under layers and layers of clothes! Who is she, by the way? Your first love?”

Hank gives him the silent treatment.

Gavin is touching feathers on the wings tracing every single line. It’s mesmerizing.

The knife clamped in his other hand dangerously rests against Hank's groin and it seems that he starts to realize — there are various types of torture.

“Turns out jogging is good for your health. I thought you will look a tiny bit different without your shirt... But I can see that there is still meat on bones. I like it.”

His hands lightly press on Hank's stomach then grab soft sides slippery with sweat.

The heaters have long been turned off, but Gavin feels like his whole body is burning.

“Fuck you.”

Hank says this phrase as if it is his lifeline.

“This is just the beginning.”

He unbuttons Hank's pants and easily pulls them down with his boxer shorts, shamelessly ogling a flaccid penis framed by gray pubic hair.

His palm reaches for the balls, begins to gently caress them. Gavin is very passionate about that and doesn’t even notice another tattoo on Hank's right leg.

Hank himself hisses and twitches once again unsuccessfully trying to free himself.

“Oh, you don’t like it?”

Hank is staring down at him angrily. Suddenly he twists his lips in a grin and Gavin feels as if something hot begins to flow down his hand.

The sharp smell of urine hits his nose.

It’s an unexpected move yet Gavin doesn’t find it repugnant. No, the fact that Hank decided to use this particular strategy against his potential rapist excites Gavin. But this is not something you learn in self-defense classes so where did he get this idea from? 

Maybe he was in a similar situation before.

Maybe he knows what it feels like to be violated by another man.

The thought itself is too much. Gavin knows that at this rate he will not have enough strength to restrain himself.

“Did you really think it would make me stop? Even if you shit your pants I will not do that.”

Hank does not smile anymore.

He makes deer in the headlights kind of face and Gavin enjoys every last second of it. 

“Why?” Hank asks.

“Daddy issues, tough childhood and all that stuff. Nothing is new under the moon.”

“Why me then?”

“You were just unlucky to meet me one day. That’s all.”

Gavin feels happy and sort of... whole? He pulls out a prepared syringe.

“I’m not a victim you need, Reed. I will not beg you for mercy nor will I play by your rules.”

“I know. And that is exactly the reason why you are a perfect victim for me. Just for me, no one else. My treasure. My sacrificial goat.”

The needle easily enters Hank’s neck, mirroring the mark on the other side.


	4. Hank

Hank has always been famous for low susceptibility to various kinds of antibiotics and alcohol but now this feature of his plays against him. 

Even after the injection he does not fully lose consciousness.

He can understand — vaguely but still — his surroundings while his body is acting like a silent puppet in Gavin’s hands.

Till the very end Hank wishes that whatever was inside the syringe will take over him and let him fall into one deep slumber. This doesn’t happen.

Gavin leads him to a bathtub covered by a screen Hank’s never really noticed. 

Hank moves like a broken android and tends to stumble every other step. To prevent him from falling Gavin puts an arm around his waist and asks to lean on himself.

Like he has a choice.

Hank’s bare skin touches the fabric of other man’s clothes and this feeling is surely abhorrent.

Also the wooden floor is surprisingly very cold.

Gavin puts Hank in the bathtub and in his hand appear some medical devices, the purpose of which is understandable without words.

“N... N...”

Hank tries to protest, to say how much he hates it but no real words come out of his mouth.

He clings desperately to the slippery acrylic sides of the bathtub.

Gavin laughs in response. 

“It speaks! It seems I need to increase the dosage. You’ve become too active too soon, haven’t you?”

“N… N!..”

“Should it be half of the usual? Or just a quarter will suffice? I wish I knew... You know that you can overdose on this shit? It will be such a waste if it kills you! It’s not my intention to let you die an easy death.”

Gavin puts his hand on Hank’s nape stroking his wet hair.

Hank can't even try to shake this hand off.

He feels as if he is a wild wounded beast driven into a corner. He feels as if he is a deviant caught up by his sadist of a master. The lack of ability to think clearly aggravates his animal instincts and this only makes everything worse.

Fortunately, Gavin does give him another injection and this time unknown drug finally works as intended. 

Blissful ignorance has never been so long-awaited and yet so short.

Hank opens his eyes. 

He is kneeling in the middle of the same damn attic. This time his hands are strapped behind his back with a long leather belt, there is a rope around his neck and he can feel some foreign object inside his ass.

“It looks like you didn’t want to come back to this world. I was waiting for a whole hour.”

Gavin pulls for his end of the rope which is thrown across the ceiling beam and it obediently digs into Hank's neck.

This is an obvious warning and a reminder. ‘I can rape you. I can stop you from breathing. I can do both’ kind of reminder.

Gavin is much less clothed now; he wears nothing but his T-shirt and boxer briefs. Next to him lies a remote with something like a long wire or...

Gavin pushes on one of the remote’s buttons and plug inside Hank instantly increases in size.

“Fuck.” Hank mumbles.

It’s still a pain to speak.

Also it feels like Gavin used pretty much no lube ramming this thing in his asshole. It almost hurts.

Gavin digs a hand into his shoulder holding him in place. He succeeds without any problems; the drug, it seems, has not yet completely disappeared, and Hank's strength is simply not there. 

“Don’t say you’ve never experienced that before. No way in hell your deviant friend didn’t try to live through all kinds of human pleasures with you.”  
He pushes button two more times.

Hank hoarsely answers:

“He didn’t.”

Another two pushes and the toy stretches Hank in the most uncomfortable and invasive way possible.

“Don’t lie to me! I’ve been watching you and your tin can for a good few weeks. You’ve kissed on multiple occasions. He even jerked you off... Oh yes, I saw that! You forgot to close the curtains.”

Hank remembers the evening mentioned by Gavin clearly all to the last detail. And the fact that he remembers that too though without knowing the details — for example that Connor still does not have the augmentations necessary for sex with penetration — is infuriating.

“Fucking sick bastard!”

“For sure I am one.”

Gavin pushes the button again and then suddenly he grabs the base of a plug and starts pulling it as if it is even possible to do that without ripping Hank apart.  
Hank screams and almost falls into Gavins arms.

It hurts. It’s humiliating.

“Don’t worry, you won’t bleed. I hope” whispers Gavin into his ear. 

“Die”.

Hank looks up and spits in his face knowing he will for sure not like the consequences. But it needed to be done for his sanity’s sake.

Gavin smiles.

He changes position so he can be behind Hank’s back and after that he just pushes him. Unable to hold on, he falls forward, ready to hit his face on the floor. The rope around his neck “saves” him.

It “saves” him so well that Hank begins to choke and cough at the same time.

Gavin pulls his hair upward easing the pressure of the rope. 

Everything floats before his eyes, everything is cloudy with tears.

“How does it feel, old man?”

The toy inside Hank is reduced to its original size, and then disappears altogether. No dirty squelching sounds, which means that this bastard really stuck the damned plug in him without lube. However, this also means that he has not received particularly nightmarish ruptures.

Yet.

Gavin doesn’t give him even the second to catch his breath. He enters Hank with one slow push and he barely manages not to scream.

It’s painful. It’s like someone tries to fuck him with the handle of a mop or something.

“I will kill you...”

“That’s a promise, right?”

Gavin laughs at him while moving in agonizingly slow pace.

Hank can only balance between being suffocated and even greater pain. 

Any rational thought is buried under endless pile of anger and despair.


	5. Connor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very slow paced chapter. Different perspective.

Hank is gone for a day and Connor just can’t function properly anymore. 

Before that incident he knew little about guilt and now it’s all over the place. It feels like guilt is in every line of his code, in every stress warning he gets. 

He could’ve helped him.

He could’ve saved him.

This feeling slows him to the point he decides to go straight to Fowler the Monday morning. With a suggestion, of course.

“Captain, sir, you know better than me that in this particular moment most of our unit’s open cases are in need of decisions only Lieutenant can make. And the rest of them are in court so thus do not need our immediate attention.”

Fowler stays silent but he is still listening. That’s a good sign.

“That is exactly why I am asking you to give me access to everything you’ve got on Hank Anderson’s kidnapping case. So I can be productive.”

“Interesting.”

Fowler’s facial expression is almost unreadable. 

“In giving circumstances it will be the best decision possible, Captain. I was made for this. My knowledge is more than sufficient to crack the case.”

The end of his thought — _before it is too late_ — is certainly not there yet both of them do have that ending in their minds.

“Problem is, Connor, you have a personal interest in the case. And this is not something our department handles anyway.”

“It’s possible to send them some data about my performance...”

“It is possible but it will not convince anyone. They will not let a deviant help them.”

Fowler looks straight at Connor’s eyes, and he does not look away, suspecting that this is not the end of the conversation.

“Captain, sir?”

“I will put it this way... I care about Hank’s wellbeing like you do. I know for a fact that evidence suggest he was not just kidnapped but kidnapped by someone who knows at least a tiny bit about how we work. It makes things a little bit complicated and you seem to do well with complicated things. So I will give you needed access on one condition: you will not do stupid things like doing something drastic without my approval.”

“Sounds like a plan, Captain. I will not disappoint you. And... Thank you for believing in me, sir”

“You are the best option he has. Don’t let him down.”

Connor feels much better after this conversation. It’s a good sign because negative emotions could’ve cause some malfunctions in his system and he does not have any time to spare for the diagnostics. 

Connor revisits the night Hank went missing while adding previously unknown details to the picture.

This Saturday they were supposed to stay for a night in a hotel called ‘Eugenie Co’. They did that to safely watch a place across from the hotel. Hank’s informant was sure that there they would’ve find the illusive android killer who terrorized Detroit for about a month or so. 

Connor never met said informant and he will never be able to; his body was found at the harbor hours after Hank’s disappearance leaving them with a dead end. 

At the hotel, Connor was taking his time renting a room and making sure they had a good view from the window at the other building while Hank went back to his car to take something from the glove box. 

Ten minutes past. Connor had tried to reach Hank with a phone call but no one answered. So Connor went to search for him only finding an abandoned open car with no sign of his partner.

A quick restoration of events showed that Hank might not go somewhere on his own free will. Later a team of forensics found a single drop of a drug on Hank’s dirtied scarf. This type of drug could’ve made a person docile enough to follow someone without a question asked.

The issue is that they do not have anything beside the scarf and the drop of a drug.

No CCTV, no traces, no witnesses. 

Moreover, the kidnapper still didn’t put forward demands. No ransom note, no nothing. Does it mean he just needs Hank? But for what? Is this some kind of revenge?

Does it mean that Hank might be already dead? Does it mean that someone is torturing him right now?

Connor deletes these thoughts. He looks through all cases Hank was ever involved with. The old ones, the new ones, it doesn’t matter; any single one of them might hide a perpetrator behind simple lines.

But Connor doesn’t find anything. The ones who might hold a grudge would’ve hold it against him, not Hank. 

Connor feels like he is missing something obvious.

“Earth to tin can! Earth to tin can!”

It turns out that this is Gavin who snaps his fingers in front of his face for a good minute, trying to attract attention.

“Sorry, Detective, I’m currently working on a case. Could you please do not disturb me?”

“And what if I tell Fowler on you? You are not supposed to work on Hank’s kidnapping.”

Connor plays a game of pretend. Gavin does not need to know it was Fowler who gave him clearance.

“Please, don’t do that. I know you are not really fond of me, but my work can positively affect the case and thus wellbeing of Lieutenant Anderson.”

After a few seconds of never-ending silence Gavin backs away.

“It’s your choice, Tin Man. Not gonna interfere.”

He turns around, whistling a song under his nose. After succumbing to the impulse, Connor does not let him go.

“Can I ask you something, Detective?”

“Sure.”

“Let's say the perpetrator is linked to earlier cases. Let's say he wants to take revenge on those responsible for his misfortunes. But from the extracted data it is clear that such a criminal is most likely to take revenge against me, not the Lieutenant Anderson. Why kidnapping him than?”

“You are forgetting something very important. You can not feel pain and Hank on the other hand can. By the way, it’s kind of a classic villain scheme to make the closest ones to you suffer in your place. Didn’t you think of that?”

Connor smiles a bit just to seem thankful.

“No, I didn’t. I appreciate your assistance, Detective.”

Something seems out of place in Gavin’s words yet Connor decides to temporarily ignore it, to analyze it later. 

He will regret this decision.


	6. Gavin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Hank loses one of his tattooes while Gavin is filming it.

Gavin takes time installing his filming setup. After that he carefully puts little whitish dots on his face and black jumpsuit, occasionally glancing at Hank. He is tied again to his beloved cross.

There is no doubt that Hank has some understanding of what Gavin is planning to do. For sure he notices a huge tripod with a camera settled on it and for sure he knows who exactly will receive the final product. 

Maybe right now he is imagining what kind of faces Connor will be making while watching the video.

Gavin hides his hair under a bald cap with the same whitish dots all over it.

“Do you like my new suit?”

“It doesn’t make you look thinner.”

That snarky remark is like music to Gavin’s ears.

“It will if I want it to.”

In fact, both the jumpsuit and the dots are designed to simplify the task for a modeling program that can change the appearance of anyone. 

There was a time when such techniques were used to make films and computer games, but since then they have become relatively cheap, widely available and simple. Since then people have been using that technology just not for those pretty and clean personal purposes. For example, one could shoot amateur porn with a famous star without spending a lot of money on a said star. Instead one could ask a random girl to put some dots on herself and voila!

Movie magic.

Unfortunately, Gavin sucks at montage. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to be an identical copy of someone. He just needs to cover his face so Connor wouldn’t recognize him.

He just needs to put on Connor’s face.

“Oh, and about our movie.” Gavin touches Hank’s belly, stroking his skin lightly, knowing that Hank can’t escape this no matter how much he hates it. “I have two scenarios. Will you be a kind little lieutenant and help me choose the best one?”

“And what choices do I have? Death or something like... death?”

“You are getting ahead of yourself, sweetheart. Let’s start with something simple. Should I torture you or fuck you for your precious deviant to see?”

“The first option sounds like a ton of fun.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Shit, he doesn’t even flinch. But he also doesn’t say “torture” out loud which might mean that he is afraid or unsettled by his nearest future at least a little.

“Really? I can make you feel good for once. You won’t regret it, I’m a skillful lover.”

Hank grits his teeth.

“I’ve already made up my mind. And go fuck yourself.”

“Good. Hold to this thought ‘cause this... you will regret this.”

Before Hank can figure out what will happen next, Gavin shoves a spider gag in his mouth and fastens the strap on the back of his head.

Metal “legs” of it almost certainly painfully dig into the delicate skin inside his mouth.

Hank mumbles, trying to say something like “Die, asshole,” but it's impossible to make out anything coherent.

“Sorry about that. I can’t let you communicate with your lover and leave a trail of breadcrumbs I will not be able to find. By the way, have I said that you shouldn’t try even to hint at who I am? For Connor’s own safety if you catch my drift.”

Hank’s heart is beating so very fast. His face is red with tension, anger and shame. Or at least Gavin thinks it is. 

“So did we understand each other?”

Silence is not an answer he wants to hear. That’s why Gavin starts to squeeze Hank's defenseless penis in his palm till he starts to mumble again and quickly nods for a dozen of times. 

“Good. Camera, action!”

He sets his film in motion. Hank noticeably flinches when Gavin starts to speak again:

“Howdy, Connor! Me and your partner here have decided to shoot this masterpiece of a real life torture porn movie. Why you ask? It’s quite simple. This is a warning just for you. If you want to see Lieutenant Anderson alive you will stop snooping around 'cause this is only a tiny-tiny part of what I can actually do to him. And you don't want to give me a carte blanche.”

Gavin makes precisely three injections in Hank’s thigh. 

“It’s a shame that I’ve already spoiled the ending of this hell of a show for you, Connor. Did you like my gift? I hope you did. Hank made an impossible decision so you could receive that. All in the name of love! In your name that is.”

Hank growls. A trickle of saliva begins to drain from the corner of his mouth.

Gavin takes the scalpel from the tray on the nightstand. For a minute he allows himself to silently enjoy the expression on his victim's face and only then makes several long deep cuts, forming something like a rectangle around a luxurious tattoo on Hank's right thigh. Then, to the accompaniment of shouts, he lifts the edge from one side with the help of a medical clip and cuts, shreds, disfigures.

Again. And again. And again.

He didn’t premeditate every little thing. His fingers are covered in blood flowing down Hank’s leg, it’s getting harder and harder to keep the scalpel steady in his hand and the skin itself is very unyielding. Hank doesn’t really help being a screaming mess with saliva all over his chest and tears all over his face. 

But in the end Gavin wins and a piece of freshly cut human skin is finally in his hands. 

Gavin feels as if he’s about to cum buckets.

Hank shakes his head desperately and yells, as anyone who would have been skinned alive would yell. 

Let him scream. Let him suffer.

Gavin needs more. 

So much more.


	7. Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare ends. Or does it?

“Do you like it? ‘Cause I do. No-no-no, don’t struggle...”

Hank is terrified and furious. 

He kicks Gavin in his abdomen. He doesn’t miss the target but forgets about the rope around his neck and arms.

He can’t break free.

“That was pointless, Hank, if you ask me.” Gavin says after finally catching his breath. “You know I can hurt you thousand times more than that, right?”

And only pain remains.

Hank wakes up with a scream.

It felt real. Too real. 

He glances over his surroundings. Sumo whines from his large pillow bed obviously scared by his owner’s sudden cry. TV is on. It shows the best moments of a hockey match which has already ended. And of course there is Connor. He looks troubled while standing completely still in a doorway.

He’s home. It was just a nightmare. 

Hank sighs with relief.

“Did something happen?” Connor asks.

Hank do not remember when was the last time he was so happy to see his old creaky house. 

“Just a bad dream. I’ll be fine.”

“Want some tea?”

“Maybe later. Not in the mood.”

His right thigh is tingling. This is what happens then you fall asleep on a couch so Hank doesn’t pay it any attention.

However he notices that his hand is bandaged. 

“Connor?” 

“Yes?”

“When did I cut myself?”

“This morning.” Connor answers. Why is he still in a doorway? “You were eager to help me with cooking and an accident occurred. You bleed all over yourself, avocados and kitchen table. Also you used a lot of vulgar vocabulary.”

“Sounds just like me.”

Hank is shitty at cooking. That’s exactly the reason why he used to eat only takeouts and stuff one can microwave. In comparison, Connor is a much better cook even without any special programming installed. 

It’s itchy under the bandage for some reason.

News anchor talks about android bees, about Arctic being divided between different countries, about Marcus going to Russia for a business trip and about mysterious android killer still roaming the streets of Detroit.

This last piece rubs Hank the wrong way.

He can’t be roaming the streets. They were supposed to catch him. They even went to...

There is pain in his thigh now.

For whatever reason Hank is starting to recall that part of the nightmare when Gavin has nailed his hand to a beam. This memory is becoming more vivid by the second while his recollection of a morning accident is falling apart.

He pensively clenches and unclenches his fist. Fingers obey, yes, but not as they should. Hank is keenly aware of the difference, ‘cause he usually holds a gun in that hand.

“Stop it.”

Connor sounds strange. Hank looks closely at him and notices that he is unexpectedly tense for a situation like this.

“What?”

“For the best quality healing, it is better to remain at rest. If you are concerned about pain, then the best solution is simply to distract yourself since we don't have painkillers at hand. Talk to me about anything, this should help. Just talk to me.”

This last sentence almost sounds like he’s begging.

“Wanna talk? Sure. Say, did we go to that hotel? ‘Eugenie Co’?”

Connor is silent. From this angle Hank can’t tell for sure what color is his LED but he is not that stupid. Something doesn’t add up.

Hank starts hastily unwrapping the bandage.

“No!”

Connor rushes forward, reaches out his hand to stop him but it's too late.

“Oh.”

Hank looks at the wounds on both sides of the palm of his hand, which are still not fully healed. It looks like someone had pushed a knife into it, breaking through the skin and bone.

The pain in his thigh is stronger, borderline unbearable. 

“It wasn’t just a bad dream, was it?”

Connor doesn’t answer but his LED becomes yellow. Hank can see it clearly now.

“Say, am I still there? With him?”

Connor’s face is still an illustration of the word 'stoic' but steady red light on his temple tells all Hank needs to know.

What Hank doesn’t need is a confirmation that there is no tattoo on his right thigh.

Dark red drops drip over the skin and dirty the fabric of the couch. That couch slowly turns into an old stained mattress. It means that this fake reality made by his confused brain is deteriorating. It also means that soon Connor will disappear and Hank will go back to reality where Gavin will continue to tear him apart.

“It's a pity that you were never really here, Connor. Would've been nice to see your face one last time.”

“I will find you, Hank. I’ll do anything to...”

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I can kill that bastard and set myself free with the right opportunity. I don’t need nobody’s help.”

He is not sure whom he is trying to convince - himself or Connor. Or both.

Connor sits next to Hank and then all of a sudden firmly grabs his chin.

“Are you sure about that?” It’s Gavin’s voice. “I heard you calling your plastic boyfriend in your dream. Was it a pleasant one? Or did he violate your body or your mind like I do?”

“He would never do something so rotten.”

“You’ll be surprised. Deviants can do cruel things too, just like us, humans. Even to their loved ones.”

“Just do your worst already.”

Hank tries to pull away, to shake off these fingers, but the ropes prevent him from raising his hands to sufficient height.

“There is no way out of this for you.” Gavin briefly kisses him in the neck above the rope. “You belong to me till your last breath, Hank.”

Hank is not ready to die, yet now he wants to with all his heart. 

“I belong to one one, prick.”

"If it is true, why I can do all these lewd and horrible things to your body?"

Gavin kicks his legs apart with ease to remind about his endless power. Hank imagines how he will crush his skull with a baseball bat.

Gavin repeatedly and forcefully bites him. Hank tries to convince himself that even the most terrible reality is better than a deceptively comfortable fake.

And only pain remains.


	8. Connor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New warning: Forced to watch.

Connor doesn’t need to look up data on disclosure of cases involving kidnapping. Connor doesn’t need to calculate how long on average male hostages survived in the arms of those captors who did not ask for ransom. He knows that the chances of finding Hank alive are pretty slim.

It’s been forty eight hours since the kidnapping which means that tomorrow police will stop looking for Hank and will start looking for his body.

Connor wanders from one room to another. He tries desperately to find a clue, a hint, anything really. He stops only to pet Sumo who is also restless.

It’s like he knows that his master is in great trouble.

Connor looks through his memory logs of past few days. For a moment he loses control and looks too far back; he can almost feel tender human body coming undone under his fingers. 

This gives birth to a new emotion — raw, unpleasant and painful in a certain way.

Connor doesn’t have enough time to name it; something falls with a loud thud behind the front door.

Package? So late? Maybe...

Connor rushes outside trying to find the messenger. There is predictably no one on the streets but there is something in the air — a simple postal drone. Unfortunately, no real data can be extracted from it: serial number is not visible (probably erased) and the drone itself looks like a standard model anyone can buy with untraceable cash on one of the city’s flea markets. It’s worthless.

All Connor can do is to take the package.

An envelope and a parcel. Note on a parcel reads: “Open me first”. There are no fingerprints, no traces of anything really. 

Connor places everything he found on a coffee table. 

He violates all the rules and rips apart the plastic wrapper after briefly scanning its content for dangerous elements. A simple wooden box with a metal bottom falls in his hands. It’s cold. Waterproof. Judging by the insufficiently varnished surface, homemade. Presumably there is a bunch of synthetic ice inside.

His stress level is rising. Connor has read too much human detective fiction to not be able to guess about the contents of the box.

“Open me first.”

He shouldn’t do this. What he should do is report about the package to captain Fowler and wait for further instructions.

“Open me.”

Connor carefully pulls the nail out of the lock slot and slowly lifts the lid.

He immediately recognizes Hank’s tattoo. 

Indicators warn him about rapid changes in his systems. It’s like his bionic heart stopped beating for a second.

Connor clenches his hands into fists and forces himself to analyze the evidence, while remaining as objective and collected as possible in such an impossible situation. He's doing fairly well.

Judging by the rough and uneven edges of cuts Connor can say with a certain amount of confidence that their culprit isn’t a medic. Maybe he has some first aid courses behind his back and general knowledge of human anatomy, but that’s it.

Blood is fresh and its color is quite bright, which means Hank was still breathing while being skinned alive. Probably he was conscious. Maybe there were no painkillers in his systems.

Connor breathes more often to provide his overheated body with additional ventilation.

A piece of skin was immediately thrown on the ice and held like this for several hours before being sent. There is a possibility that originally this was done just to show the world — or only Connor? — culprit’s power over the body and the very existence of Hank.

It also means something else took place during those hours. Connor looks at the envelope.

He already knows what he will find inside.

The level of stress grows, imperceptibly, little by little, but grows.

“Watch me second.”

There is a small rectangular of a disc inside. Connor inserts it into one of the TV-set’s panels.  
“Play the recording.”

His voice is trembling just a bit.

His own face looks back at him from the screen.

“Pause.”

No, it’s not him or any other android of his model. Probably kidnapper just used one of very high quality images of him and made sort of a virtual mask to hide his identity.   
Connor looks for details and ignores whatever is happening behind culprit’s back.

Connor can’t tear this mask off his face without any additional software so there is not much information he can extract from the picture. Perp’s male, average height, his tastes are pretty much standard for a man in his thirties, maybe forties. 

Connor starts the recording again purposefully ignoring Hank on the background. He listens to every word perp’s saying (voice has been morphed, obviously), looks for a clue of their whereabouts in every frame.

It’s an attic with no windows. The house is most likely abandoned, electricity comes from generator power supply.

Perp’s holding a scalpel in his hand. 

Hank’s right palm is bandaged. 

He chokes on a scream but sometime soon he is just physically unable to hold back. He screams ever so loudly.

“Mute the sound.”

The criminal, meanwhile, falls into a state similar to acute drug intoxication. The video breaks off with him laughing hysterically while waving a piece of flesh as if it was a flag.

Only darkness remains.

Connor knows that this is not the end — there are still several minutes left on the timeline. Excruciatingly long minutes.

It’s a close-up of perp’s face this time. Connor turns on the sound again.

“Initially, I did not plan to show you this. In the end, our Anderson chose a different path, the path of a brave warrior, ready to withstand any torture. And he was brave, wasn’t he? But I need to humiliate him, Connor, I physically need to humiliate him in your invisible presence, you know? Also it will serve as an additional guarantee that you will not send the record to the police. Oh, believe me, I'll find out if you’ll do it... In any case, I don’t think you want others to see your closest one like that.”

He violates Hank and does not shy away from showing every sickening juicy detail to the camera.

Hank’s wound is bleeding badly.

Hank tosses restlessly on the mattress, the ropes dig violently into the skin of his wrists, his naked body is covered with sweat, his face glows red with fever. He mutters and sometime screams some incoherent nonsense from which Connor snatches out separate phrases.

His stress level immediately gets higher by twenty points.

“Don’t touch me!”

“No, please...”

“Connor!”

Perp is kissing Hank in the neck covered with bite marks and then comes soundlessly.

“Stop!”

His head is spinning. His eyes are watery. 

His systems are trying so hard to deal with a sudden stress spike.

Connor does not know what it's like to feel physical pain, but he’s ready to give everything to get such an opportunity and exchange places with Hank.

Hank doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good man. He’s been through a lot.

It’s not fair.

Connor screams to the limit of his voice processor. New warnings flash in front of his eyes.

Sumo whines in response from his cushion, but for some reason does not come to him.


End file.
